


Wranduin Week 2020

by FlowerMutt



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Wranduin Week, Wranduin Week 2020, anduin is in fact a gremlin, explicit sexual content with gratuitous feelings, right is a mom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowerMutt/pseuds/FlowerMutt
Summary: A collection of most of my pieces for wranduin week 2020. Not every day will be completed, and only the last chapter is currently set to be mature.day 1: “That is rather the problem with Anduin Wrynn, don’t you think? He will forgive and forgive until he slits his own throat on it and I have no interest in being the blade upon which he does so.”day 4: Anduin watched, attention entirely ensnared, as Wrathion strode through the crowd with sway of hips and click of heels which cut through music to Anduin’s ears.day 7:
Relationships: Right & Wrathion (Warcraft), Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	1. A Day In Stormwind

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the much beloved [goldenrule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenrule)!
> 
> Set some time before Wrathion's return in game. I'm very aware this bends the prompt quite badly, but they are both _technically_ in Stormwind, so...

Rain fell, chilled by the sea mist of the great ocean upon whose shore Stormwind sat, driving even the most hardened of citizens into homes so they might settle before hearths, curled up with loved ones and momentarily content, sheltered as they were for now from the war that raged.

In the midst of it all, a woman cloaked in black stepped forth from a tucked away store within the mage district, her pocket considerably lighter than when she had entered, gold replaced instead with a bag of something inconspicuous bundled away within the confines of heavy fabrics.

Her path was swift, purposeful, as if she had every right to be where she was and was not, in fact, exactly where she should _not_ be.

Right had never much been one to care for such trivial notions as _should_ and _should not_ when it came to these things. There was only what needed to be done and the line between morality and accomplishing such could be a terribly grey thing, but she supposed that was the path they walked, those who had sworn themselves to the Black Prince.

Breath came on level, condensed puffs, steady exhales as she turned into a darker alley, pausing only briefly before grasping the wooden framing of a building and scaling the side of it with deceptive ease until she stood upon a flat expanse of roof.

A short bow was offered to the figure who sat upon the far edge, his back to her, attention elsewhere as he offered only the barest of hums to acknowledge her arrival.

“Everything went smoothly, sir.”

Right paused, waiting for an answer that did not come, distracted as he was. She could only imagine the faraway look she might find in his eyes, the disquiet wanderlust cut short, hung on the tragedy of his own making.

Instead she looked up, briefly, regarding the object of his enraptured attention in the distance; Stormwind Keep.

Beyond that even, for what meaning might the bricks and mortar of humans ever truly mean to him? Then, in the end, it was what-- who-- rest within that was true turn of his focus. Wrathion was, at best, a prickly sort, and at worst one who cut himself away from others so viciously that upon but one hand could the figures who had gotten close enough to him to know better could be counted.

And of them but one had got closer yet, stoking something within him even as, almost comically at the time, Wrathion had failed to see, to understand. For someone so terribly intelligent he was prone to such oblivious foolishness, and it had been that which had unravelled so much for him, almost too much for the price of it had cut something deep within him. How he tried to ignore it, to brush it away, to strive instead for goal after goal. A life filled with necessity and purpose. Nothing more.

It was a duty he preached in all his hubris, his self crafted arrogance an armour then, denying and yet not denying all at once the irrefutable truth. 

A truth that had him affixed to the grand building as if it had the answers he sought-- and perhaps it did.

“He would forgive you,” Right offered after a beat, canting head at the silhouette of the dragon where he sat, gaze turned unwaveringly to the imposing building, clothes drenched from the storm. He _should_ have cut an intimidating figure as somewhere thunder rumbled, and yet-- and Light knew she was scarcely foolish enough to admit it-- he just looked impossibly small.

Sad in a way which lurched even her, attached as she had long since become to her employer and all his odd munitions.

His laugh, when it came, was no comfort. “No doubt,” his voice rumbled, tectonic, sturdy. _How he’s grown,_ she thought. And if she felt a stab of pride? Well, she’d not voice that either.

“That is rather the problem with Anduin Wrynn, don’t you think? He will forgive and forgive until he slits his own throat on it and I have no interest in being the blade upon which he does so.”

Silence spanned, broken only by steady plops of water hitting bricks and cobbles. She knew he would have the silence loom on forever, an endless tapestry of all his secrets cut from the cloth of his isolation. Wrathion wore his loneliness as a crown, one so dazzling it might distract from the truth, might turn eyes away from the flaws that made him so very, very…

 _Human_.

“Wrathion,” she sighed, a rare stray from the reflexive title she might usually offer. “I think you’re making a mistake.”

Then, finally, he turned, ever-burning eyes aglow even in the dark of rainy night. “Oh?”

“Contrary to what you seem to believe, you do not, in fact, always know what is best for people.” Though heavens knew he acted as if he did, as if he had not only lived a scant few years. “Especially yourself.”

“And _you_ know, do you? What’s best for me?”

How churlish he could be.

“I know you are unhappy, I know that you didn’t need to come with me tonight. Or the time before. Or the time before that, even.” She could go on, they both know, though in that she spared him, at least. Only in that. “I know you’ve not been happy since--”  
  
“Do not,” Wrathion interjected, “finish that.” Words chased with a soft growl, more like petulant upset than true threat, turning his attention once more to the looming building that stood a great monolith in the distance.

She was right and they both knew it, had always known it, truth be told, and it was a regret she had watched weigh on his young shoulders since they had traversed that world what felt like so long ago now. Under strange stars she had watched as he had learnt remorse, as he had learnt love and loss in equal measure and then swallowed it down until it was unclear whether he hoped to fool others or himself.

“Forgive me,” she sighed, not sounding the least bit contrite. 

He snorted, a momentary glow of agitated embers exhaled before they were smothered by rain, bright points in the night extinguished just as quickly as they began. “We all make our choices in life, Right, and I made mine many years ago.”

“You made a _mistake_ \--”

“No doubt, and a terrible one at that. Choices-- _mistakes--_ have consequences, my dear, and we must live with those.” For was the world not hinged on such choices? Azeroth hung in a constant and terribly fragile state of balance, the slightest thing threatening to spill them all over into a yawning maw of nothingness that longed to consume them. He had come so, so close to being that small _thing_ which might tip the scales and spell their end.

Self flagellation had never much suited him, she thought.

Wrathion shifted, unfurling from his hunkered position in a slow bloom until he stood. “And besides,” he hummed, finally turning from the keep and drawing to stand before her; “the light has always suited Anduin Wrynn far better than the shadows. I have nothing to offer but that. Now, come along. I have better things to do than idle here any longer.”

So she followed staunchly, ever loyal at his side, and if he paid one more glance over his shoulder toward Keep before descending from the roof? Well. She would allow him his lonely denial.

At least for tonight.


	2. Free Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be 'dancing', but honestly just turned into 'anduin likes to tease wrathion' smh

The munitions of courtly grandeur had been ingrained into him since boyhood, strict though not unkind tutors instilling it early in dull lessons he had so often tried to evade, spiriting away books from the library to curl in some quiet corner of the keep that he might lose himself to adventures within instead. Tales that wove epic sagas, others of quiet tragedy, and some of newly bloomed romance and how those had made him blush!

To be young and foolish.

Anduin Wrynn was a far cry from foolish these days and some might yet call him young, but with a crown mantled by war and the dull aches in his bones, he certainly didn’t feel particularly spritely anymore.

Still, even for all the weight that threatened to crush shoulders that remained yet sturdy, he could not deny the soft smile to grace his face at frivolity around him, however short-lived it might prove to be.

Stormwind was in celebration, racious and merry in the face of a war ended and Old God defeated. He knew it to be a temporary, little more than the passing of the eye of the storm granting blessed relief for the moment, but it  _ would  _ pass, the shadows rising on the fringes a worry that gnawed at Anduin terribly.

Even now it sat in back of his mind, ever there as he made polite with the noblemen and women of his home, greetings and pleasantries exchanged before moving to the next, what time he had in his own liberty offered in turn to them.

For now at the very least, for as music pitched delicately about grand room his patience spanned, was tested with gentlest of tweaks as he was forced to wait for the arrival of he who was dearest to Anduin’s heart. Such was it that he could only be glad that wait was soon to meet its end.

The way room’s mood shifted was almost palpable; the way festivity dimmed ever so, the way the particularly bold murmured between themselves at the presence that seemed to materialize in doorway from nowhere. It was entirely possible Wrathion had, in fact, materialised from nowhere to reap spooked ripples of crowd Anduin thought with no small amount of amusement.

Anduin watched, attention entirely ensnared, as Wrathion strode through the crowd with sway of hips and click of heels which cut through music to Anduin’s ears. Crowd shifted, an ocean parting before dragon who moved so surely, so certainly, even under the wary glances and softly whispered scrutiny of Stormwind’s nobles.

It was a vice about his chest, a tight constrict of outrage that even now, even after everything, they could do no more than look upon him and see  _ Black Dragon _ before  _ Wrathion _ . An indignance that burnt in him many times over even as Wrathion seemed to care so little, his masks so carefully arranged until he appeared unphased by anything another might brandish at him, be it judgment, sharp words, or a scorn deserved or not.

Such masks had long since failed to fool Anduin though, for he had seen the shuddering vulnerability beneath, the lost sort of uncertainty that hubris otherwise outshone. That he had seen, that he had been trusted, was a gift coveted so closely even as it made the bite of his upset now all the worse.

“I suppose you think you’re quite clever, dearest.”

Soft rumble snapped Anduin from thoughts as Wrathion finally, blessedly, halted before him hand braced upon cocked hip, delicate blue silks that wreathed his dark skin a soft cascade of elegant folds against Wrathion’s body, accentuated by countless golden chains, bangles, and rings he had chosen to adorn himself in. The sight was enough to hitch the beat of his heart, stutter it softly as eyes wandered too to what skin Wrathion bared.

It was an attention stolen so easily, yet a right too for had they not been through so very much to bring them here, now, together? After betrayal, after mistakes, after wars and old gods should he  _ not  _ then, in this moment, take pause to revel in an adoration so ardent that it was enough to quell a quip in turn. At least for a moment.

“I would say I’m comfortably above average, yes, Wrathion. You look lovely though,” there smile curled, mischief alight as hand lifted ever so as if to shield away some of amusement paid at Wrathion’s expense. “I do hope you didn’t give poor Helena too much trouble whilst you were getting ready, she was only doing her job after all.”

“But it is blue,” was Wrathion’s only reply, a reedy sort of whine as he gestured to clothing, Anduin then quite certain Wrathion had indeed caused Helena an awful lot of trouble for her efforts. He would be sure to thank her later but, for now, he could only laugh at upset as dramatic as it was. Hardly a novelty with Wrathion Anduin thought, amusement blooming, for his dearest lover was nothing if not dramatic.

Naturally, this only seemed to ruffle Wrathion further, a petulant fold of arms, head upturning against the apparent indignation.

“You’re very observant,” Anduin hummed, reaching to brush fingers against gossamer fabrics, picture of innocence all soft smile and flutter of lashes. “And besides, it really does suit you.” Hand traversed up, settling against what cloth did manage to cover Wrathion’s chest, the odd heat of him welcome and familiar to Anduin by now.

“Furthermore I need no  _ assistance  _ to dress myself, Anduin Wrynn, I have been more than capable of doing that since the day I hatched.” Wrathion continued on, seemingly unperturbed by Anduin’s flattery, ever stubborn. It could be an awfully infuriating trait, one certainly shared between them, but here Anduin could find no more than fondness for it.

After all, he had known quite well what he had been doing when he had commissioned fine silks those months since gone.

He knew quite well though how far he could push Wrathion, how far a jest could go before it hit just the wrong way, and so his relent came with gentle grace as he instead captured Wrathion’s hand, other settling to Wrathion’s hip, tugging him closer, falling into the rhythm of dulcet music.

“I know. However, just because we might be able to do something alone does not mean we always must.” He could only find delight then when Wrathion relented against him, a comfortable sway as blessedly those sharp heels of his did not, for once, find themselves clumsily upon Anduin’s toes. “You’ve gotten much better at dancing, you know.”

There Wrathion preened, dipping gaze of fire and gold to meet with an azure vaster than any ocean. “I suppose I had a relatively adequate teacher.”

“High praise!” Anduin’s laughter pitched loud, warm as he dipped his partner in time with song, stealing chaste kiss in a barely-there brush of lips. “I never thought I would hear the day that the Black Prince regarded a mere mortal as ‘adequate’,” came a sing-song hum, smile coy.

“I will rescind the compliment if you continue to be so obtuse, my dear.” A bite without true intent though, Wrathion’s fond roll of eyes as he allowed Anduin the lead betraying him entirely.

For a time they fell to silence then but for thrum of music, of merriment from peoples about them who had seemingly returned to their own goings-on.

Anduin would have been content in it too, in this brief piece stolen away happiness, but as with all things Wrathion evidently had other ideas, stealing away control, wresting it from Anduin’s willing hands, grips shifting, accommodating until it was Wrathion who lead them through the swaying motions of others about them.

“Still. Blue.”

“It would hardly do for you to be parading around in anything else when you are accompanying the High King of the Alliance in public for the first time, people would talk.”

“They will talk anyway, my dear. These nobles do love their gossip, and a dragon stealing away their king is a good source of gossip.”

“It’s hardly stealing if the king goes willingly, is it?”

“I suppose not,” Wrathion hummed, spinning Anduin before dipping him low, hand upon the small of his back holding him steady, talons a careful press through heavy fabrics of his own outfit that had Anduin’s skin prickling in responce. “Though I was under the impression I was accompanying Anduin Wrynn, not some nameless figurehead.”

How Anduin’s heart cinched, flush dusting across pale cheeks before Wrathion pulled him up once more, leading him in carefully calculated footwork.

Anduin loved many a thing about Wrathion, the number of which was too innumerable to truly count, but this, the way Wrathion let him feel like  _ him,  _ like something beyond titles and rank, was one of the things held dearest of all.

Hot breath ghosted against Anduin’s ear, the barest tilt of head offered in turn, pressing his cheek to Wrathion’s as his lover rumbled his contentment, a reverberation Anduin could feel in his very bones. How lulling a dragon’s purr– if it could truly be called that– might be, enough that when Wrathion hummed; “you may make it up to me later,” hand upon Anduin’s waist slipping lower with grip firm Anduin couldn’t help but smack his shoulder lightly, surprised laugh following.


End file.
